Eternity
by Silmuen
Summary: Raziel inside the Reaver Blade- HERE's CH 3...See what's happening to poor Raz
1. Trapped

Of course, I don't even remotely think that I could own something like LOK. Absurd.  
  
This is something I wrote a while ago, it's on Nosgoth net under a different name (if you click on the title and see the text there's my nick next to it all right - I want to clear all doubt.) It's just my old fic, short I am afraid, but I thought just enough. The narration switches between two incarnations of Raziel -demon and Sarafan. I hope it's not too confusing. Chapter 2 soon to come...   
  
Slow, cautious footsteps echoed in the empty, dimly lit hall.  
  
The man limped slightly. He allowed himself to, only when unobserved. Again, he was reminded of the burden of his age.  
  
The uneven sound of his footsteps was punctuated by the steady accompaniment of his staff against the stone floor.  
  
He inhaled slowly, smelling a scent that evoked a small smile on his pale lips. Death.  
  
The hall was lit by shivering candlelight that sent a multitude of fretful shadows tremble on the dark walls.  
  
The old man limped on, his face set in a pale mask of grim satisfaction, his eyes locked on something in the middle of the hall.  
  
A dead body.  
  
A flame-shaped sword.  
  
A small bluish heap of dust.  
  
The uneven sound of footsteps ceased, as the man approached the body, stooped and gazed curiously into the glazed eyes frozen wide in a revolting expression of terrible fear and agony. The old man's wrinkled hand slid across the pale, bloodless face of the young Sarafan.  
  
Long, white fingers gently closed the dead eyes.  
  
The old man straightened slowly, straining to pull up the great flame- shaped sword, trembling with effort.  
  
A fervent whisper escaped the withered lips. "Every great movement requires a few martyrs...I warned you, Raziel."  
  
That bloody night took many martyrs, their tortured screams still seemed to echo helplessly in the age-darkened walls of the stronghold.  
  
As he fought with the blade, his hands greedily clutching at the hilt, the old man trampled the blue dust, sending its tiny particles airborne.  
  
They whirled and glittered momentarily in the wavering candlelight, then fell gently onto the floor.  
  
The old man, however, did not pay attention to anything but the blade. He fancied that he saw a flicker of blue light speed along the multicurved blade, and his feverish eyes locked on the hilt from where the light had appeared.  
  
"You were foolish to challenge me, little Raziel." he whispered again, watching the blade intently for answer.  
  
A faint, bluish haze slid along the blade and vanished.  
  
A long, anguished wail of despair escaped the demon.  
  
No merciful angel of oblivion descended...  
  
His cries were audible only to himself and echoed painfully in his tortured mind.  
  
Betrayed. Manipulated. Humiliated.  
  
He was trapped beyond salvation in the physical confines of the blade. The spirit's trembling ceased.  
  
His immaterial eyes opened to see nothing but his own spiritual essence; a blue, pulsing orb of light that strove to adapt itself automatically to its material bounds. With a mixture of fascination and horror, he observed his own spirit twist itself into maddened shapes, tearing itself from one form into another, wisps of ethereal energy twitching violently.  
  
Mesmerized, Raziel watched himself turn into a winged transparent figure, whose features resembled his from the time he had been a vampire...but it was just an illusion. Suddenly, he distinguished an echo of the old man's whisper...  
  
"......a few martyrs...."  
  
In answer, he desperately fought to free himself of his prison. His mind plunged into despair- a bottomless pit of bitter pain, humiliation and impotent rage.  
  
Damn you, Moebius! May your soul be devoured by the blackest pits of hell! May you have a taste of eternal torment...The pain of betrayal and humiliation... The spirit flinched as he felt Moebius' touch on the hilt...  
  
".....little Raziel...." the words still echoed derisively in his mind. 


	2. Damned

His anguish increased gradually, as his memory labored to reconstruct the last events.  
  
The image of his own Sarafan self flickered before him -the ruthless, repulsive young monster, whose life was solely devoted to the Inquisition and the annihilation of the vampires. Repugnant and evil...yet it was himself.  
  
Raziel groaned as the truth found its way into his heart. He had never been noble nor worthy...he had always been...himself.  
  
How possibly could he resist erasing that insignificant insect?! That Sarafan boy whose greed for fame blinded him beyond reason? And who, as well, had been manipulated and tricked by Moebius...?  
  
And in the end...how possibly could he avoid his irredeemable destiny, the terrible fate of imprisonment in the Reaver blade? Raziel's soul rebelled against the cruelty of his fate, he rejected it with all his being.  
  
Why, in bloody hell, did he have to kill Kain?  
  
Insanity was near, it was approaching...he could feel the touch of its fingers...or maybe those were Moebius' colds fingers caressing the hilt... He could not tell...  
  
His memory brought him another torture- his own words he had uttered to Ariel's specter, the anguished balance guardian that haunted the Pillars.  
  
"Know this, about this purgatory from which you long to escape...you are merely at the threshold..."  
  
So was he.  
  
  
  
A drop of blood, flying from his lips, a scarlet drop that made a fine arc in the air and splashed flat on the surface of the blade that pierced him.  
  
When one dies, Raziel discovered as his eyes widened in terror, the world slows ridiculously down, its colors brighten, and little details emerge as giants. Fully aware of the nearing death, Raziel reached blindly out, a gesture purely human but nonsensical.  
  
Seconds before death, Raziel wondered at his inward calmness -he could see from the perspective of eternity now...  
  
A million thoughts flashed through his brain irrelevant now, diminished. A female name he thought he'd remembered. An image of a young Sarafan warrior in shiny mail. All this flickered and vanished. The avenging blue-skinned demon gazed at him intently.  
  
Raziel felt betrayed by his fate- although being conditioned to expect and accept death, deep inside he rebelled against the absurdity and brutality of it. He never though he would be denied the unquestionable right to achieve even more, to earn still more fame and glory...There was so much to do...  
  
Raziel screamed as he felt himself falling with incredible speed...Soon he realized it was only a sensation that his mind gave him, terrified by the experience of death. With a sudden shock, he realized that he was chained to a broken black pillar. As he strove to free himself, he felt the arcane markings of the pillar grow white hot and scald his naked skin. He raised his head to see a looming dark shape tower over him.  
  
Giant stones rose into pitch black sky like clawed fingers. A red blaze illuminated the nightmarish fingertips and on their top a familiar black robed figure appeared.  
  
It gazed down upon the tiny speck of human flesh that writhed in chains below the stones. The pale face wrinkled in a smile as the dark eyes studied the Sarafan warrior.  
  
Raziel's vision changed and he could see the figure clearly now, registering its pale, condemning smile. Mortanius made a slight gesture with his feeble hand.  
  
And Raziel knew he was damned.  
  
  
  
The demon spirit trembled with pain, as his mind tortured him with one thought...Before him stretched an empty life of imprisonment, endless, pitiful existence measured by his growing hunger, despair and madness.  
  
Soon his consciousness would wane, overpowered by hunger, a new strong entity that would devour his will, his mind and his identity. Hunger was already manifesting itself in a dull pain that grew with every second.  
  
Moebius leaned wearily against a pillar, his fingers opening and closing upon the hilt of the Soul Reaver. His tired gaze shifted from the blade to the dead form sprawled on the stone floor.  
  
"What are the questions, Raziel ?"  
  
A pale, ironic little smile crawled on his face. To the victor go the spoils.  
  
  
  
Thanks for reviewing, I'm really sorry this fic is way too short  
  
Thanx to Ravenwing and Rosebud. Thank you all for reading this I hope you enjoyed it. 


	3. Broken

Thank you for reviewing. I wasn't planning to write more of this one, but since you like it, I will :D. I really enjoy writing this one - just like writing "the Firstborn"! I'm really glad you liked this one!!!! The magic of a paradox ...well...let us not dawdle anymore...   
  
The gray stone walls were gathering cold moisture from the winter breath that penetrated the hallways of King William's castle. It settled on the curved cold blade that rested on a stone altar, its hilt wrapped in velvet.  
  
Servants who had prepared the blade for William were superstitious. They feared the strange skull at the hilt which seemed to leer at them with its dark eye sockets.  
  
The fretful lights of the chamber flitted on its cold blade...the room was silent. A lone figure was standing before the altar, gazing intently at the magnificent weapon. Its hand moved to uncover the hilt. The soft material slid gently down the stone surface.  
  
"Pray tell, Moebius. What game do you play?" the man spoke as he heard the hinges of the large wooden door creak.  
  
"None, my lord. I only wish to aid you in vanguishing your foes..."  
  
Ah the ingratiating, senile voice of Moebius...William didn't have to turn around to see clearly the writhing, repulsive form of the old wizard.  
  
Moebius, who provided him with this terrible sword...he remembered its ice -cold surface, as if there was something sinister about the blade...He shivered. Intuition told him this sword was more than just a mere tool of destruction.  
  
He turned to see the empty space where Moebius had been a moment before. The old deceitful time streamer was probably hiding in a dark crevice, where his cowardice drove him...  
  
William felt a chill run through the chamber...it seemed to emanate from the Blade.  
  
Inside it, a spirit trembled, sensing approaching danger... It whispered to itself, a steady current of thoughts...  
  
"I am hungry..... This hunger is delving into me, reshaping me, twisting me...  
  
I am imprisoned within the Reaver Blade... This blade is changing me, and I dread this process...  
  
I am still able to feel and think, though. Sometimes, I distort my reality in my mind with my imagination - to bring relief to my strained mind. I tread vast corridors of my dream palace, soft carpets muffle my steps. I let my imagination run before me and cover my bland reality with color and life. I look down, onto my body - it is shaped exactly like thousands of years before. Lazily, I slip into my dreams, like into a luxurious bed...  
  
I try to subdue my hunger.  
  
You may say I am on the verge of madness - but I use my past recollections and memories to create an almost tangible reality around me - a screen to protect me against the hostile passion. Sadly, the world I have created is a perverse, twisted mockery of what I had found enjoyable in my past lives. I revel in past pleasures that had been gathering dust since I met my end in the depths of the Abyss.  
  
Consider me now.  
  
A worthless shadow, here, caught within the cold steel. I can feel its coldness around me...  
  
My mind is already being torn from the feast my imagination had presented it...and flees to a place when it stands naked before the barren reality. MY reality.  
  
It is amazing how many shades of hunger I have come to know."  
  
  
  
"Ahhh yes, the Vampire. Moebius told me you would come . . ."  
  
A strong hand grabbed the heavy sword and lifted it from its resting place. Raziel felt the rush of air against the blade and the strength of the hand that wielded it. His spirit senses leapt to attention, suddenly tense with anxiety... Although he was blind to the outside world, he could sense with his entire spirit that there was a battle coming...His mind reached out as far as it could...  
  
The air sizzled with sparks as the two Blades met. Raziel screamed with agony, sensing his twin so close, touching it, he stretched his entity to be able to feel with the surface of the Reaver...He was lusting to strike out with all of his energy, to let it flow unchecked for the first time since....  
  
William bounded back, impressed with the strength and proficiency of his opponent. Raziel knew who it was, sensed the tense, powerful, threatening presence...  
  
Kain...  
  
Holding the Reaver's twin, and within it there was him, his own self twinned in time and space....  
  
His other self was screaming to him through time, through space, despite all barriers, it screamed its rage...Raziel's spirit answered.  
  
A long, immaterial shriek of rage and eternal hunger filled the room...  
  
' "Ahhhh....I can sense your hunger...I can sense you..." Raziel's feverish mind shrieked, searching for the other presence, so close yet so far away.... From a long distance came an inarticulate cry of hunger and rage...   
  
William was deaf to the spectral realm, but felt a faint shiver that ran along the sword in his hands.  
  
Something stirred in the air as the blades clashed again. Circular waves shot from the spot, floating away, widening, taking in the whole chamber. The air became vibrant with the powerful force that seemed to distort reality itself...  
  
A blinding flash of light filled the chamber, sending the shadows flee momentarily to the deepest corners of it. William's body collapsed, a clink of metal filled the air as his armor made contact with the stone slabs of the floor. A stream of blood snaked from under the metal and congealed lazily in the dust...   
  
A servant approached the broken Blade and knelt beside it, a piece of soft material in his hands. Reverently, he picked it up and turned to Moebius who silently waited in the doorway.  
  
"Seeking wisdom in my words you were, Raziel? Why did you defy me? Time has mastered you, as it masters any one who's unaware of its' secrets..." Moebius whispered to the blade as its' pieces rested beside him in a carriage. The Blade was coming back to the Sarafan stronghold.  
  
HAHA! Too much time on my hands, and while I should be busy doing VERY IMPORTANT things I prefer to sit and write...Please tell me I'm normal! :D 


End file.
